


They call me a dreamer, well maybe I am

by charleia



Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:01:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26605657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleia/pseuds/charleia
Summary: Mildred owes Gwendolyn a dance, and Gwendolyn is eager to collect. (v short drabble)
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Comments: 10
Kudos: 175





	They call me a dreamer, well maybe I am

**Author's Note:**

> miss Lana thank u for the request :) hope it satisfies your expectations

Soft tunes carry through the room as Mildred lays on the sofa, head resting in Gwendolyn’s lap. 

She closes her eyes and sighs contently as Gwendolyn’s fingers rake through her hair as she softly sings along. 

It’s an older one, Mildred only vaguely recognises it. She rolls onto her back, fondly smiling. “You never told me you could sing,” 

“That’s because I can’t.”

Mildred sits up. She wraps her arms around Gwendolyn and kisses her cheek before touching her head to hers. “I like listening to your voice,” she says softly, “I like  _ you _ .”

Gwendolyn smiles, turning her head towards Mildred. “Oh, you,” she murmurs, “You always say things that make me blush.” 

Mildred smiles, but it does not quite reach her eyes. Instead, her eyes carry a hint of melancholy.

Brushing a stray lock of hair from Mildred’s face, “What is going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Gwendolyn asks, cocking her head. 

Mildred shakes her head and smiles, “Oh, I don’t know,” she murmurs. She lifts her hand, fingers brushing over Gwendolyn’s cheeks and lips, “I love you.”

“I love you,” Gwendolyn echoes, grasping Mildred’s hand and kissing its palm. “Now tell me what is ailing you.”

“I just… Keep thinking of the time I almost lost you,” Mildred says after a short silence, voice wavering. “I was so scared. I was afraid that you would die before I could tell you how much I love you and—” 

“Shh… It is alright. I’m okay now, nothing is going to happen.” Softly, Gwendolyn leans in, gently kissing Mildred on the lips. Her heart flutters. She can faintly taste the wine they had shared earlier on her lips. Her hands reach up and frame Mildred’s face, thumbs gently caressing her cheeks. Over and over she kisses her, each kiss more heated than the last. Sighing into the kiss, she gives a gentle push and presses her against the cushion. Exhilaration courses through her veins, and perhaps a little too much alcohol as well. 

Mildred smiles, eyes falling shut as she revels in the frantic yet ever so tender way Gwendolyn’s soft lips move against her own, the endearing way her delicate hands settle on her hips, the cheeky way her knee teasingly slides between her legs. She relishes the chilly air on her bare skin as Gwendolyn undresses her, sliding her robe off her slender frame. She savours the way Gwendolyn moves down, leaving marks of love upon her chest and her thighs and the way her soft lips kiss her everywhere and in the most delicate way

And she cherishes the way she makes love to her. So affectionately, so passionately and oh, so lovingly.

  
  
  


Soft laughter fills the air. Gwendolyn has settled comfortably atop Mildred, head resting on her stomach, heart fluttering as Mildred plays with her hair. “I was thinking…”

“That’s a dangerous pastime,” Mildred replies with a smile, “What were you thinking, honey?”

“You owe me a dance.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Gwendolyn smiles softly. “At the dance, I asked you to dance with me, before everything went down,” she says, “You told me ‘someday,’ but that day has yet to come.”

Mildred scoffs at this. “I can’t dance, Gwen.”

“Yes you can.”

“No, I really and truly cannot.”

Gwendolyn stands up and walks over to the stereo, turning up the volume. “Mildred, will you please,  _ please _ dance with me?” she asks as she reaches out her hand. 

Sighing, Mildred concedes. She could never deny her. “Fine,” she says as Gwendolyn takes her into her arms, “Show me how, though.”

“Oh, it’s my pleasure. Come—” She takes Mildred hands and places them onto her shoulders, “It’s not difficult, you’ll see.” Her hands wander down to Mildred’s hips, where they settle. “Just move to the rhythm of the music.” Her voice has reduced to a whisper as they sway to the gentle jazz tunes. “There you go,” Gwendolyn says, pulling Mildred even closer, foreheads touching. 

Mildred lets out a content sigh. She shuts her eyes, relishing the moment of complete and utter peacefulness. Not a care in the world, no one else in the universe but them, and the voice of Margaret Whiting lulling them into what feels like something that could be a dream. She tilts her head up slightly, lets their noses brush together and sweetly kisses her on the lips. “This feels nice,” she says, laughing softly as Gwendolyn twirls her around and dips her down.

“See? I knew you’d like it,” 

“I think I only like it because I’m with you,” Mildred murmurs as she lays her head on Gwendolyn’s shoulder. 

“A  _ very _ valid reason.”

The last song comes to an end but neither seems to notice. Gwendolyn holds her, still. Mildred still has her arms wrapped around her neck. 

Neither has any intention of relinquishing the other anytime soon and, together, they sway to the music that only they seem to be able to hear, completely immersed in their own little bubble. 

And it is then and there that Mildred decides that dancing with Gwendolyn may be her new favourite thing.


End file.
